BreadMaking Vikings
by Ayaia of the Moon
Summary: He should have known the perils of the winter. The perils of Bread-making vikings. The perils of Big-Boobied Bog Burglars. Crack, kindasorta. Yay for a cameo by Big-Boobied Bertha! :D


The grimy lamp offered no respite to the cold winds, and the odd group gathered within the flickering circle of light shifted closer together to conserve heat. Except for one figure, hunched alone within a shaggy fur and hating himself for agreeing to meet the other five in such conditions.

_The only thing worse than being out in the middle of the night_, the young Viking thought hatefully, blowing into his hands to warm them through the gloves, _is being out in the middle of the night waiting on _produce_._

"Don't you live by the North Sea?" came a question from the woman to his right. He pointedly looked straight ahead and didn't answer right away. That was how best to deal with the Big-Boobied Bog Burglars. If you didn't _look_ at them, then they wouldn't rip out your throat for staring at…well…their namesake. If you didn't answer their questions the first time asked, they wouldn't accuse you of interrupting them. If a Bog Burglar was interrupted, you'd likely have your tongue ripped out.

"Like…the coldest sea of…the north?" the woman continued pointedly.

"Pretty close to it, yeah," he muttered, trying to keep his teeth from chattering. _Chattering teeth do not tools of a great Viking make_.

"Well, aren't you used to this sort of weather?" the Bog Burglar asked finally, her point punctuated by a scoff as she gestured to the snow falling around them.

His face went slack as he felt the familiar feeling of frustration swell inside of him. He was used to feeling frustrated because he processed things quicker than many of his Vikingly companions, but this was ridiculous. Could they not see him and guess at why he was cold?

"If you hadn't noticed," he said sarcastically, rubbing feeling back into his arms and kicking at the snow with a prosthetic foot, "I'm not exactly custom-made for any weather."

He was proud at himself for holding back. He could have insulted their intelligence, or the intelligence of their mothers. But had he done that? No! He'd merely pointed out his fake limb, and hopefully drawn attention to the fact that he was easily a third the size of the smallest Bog Burglar in their gathering. They could catch the hints he'd dropped, right?

"Wait," another woman cut in, even bigger…boobied…than the first woman. "Why did you come to _us_, anyway? You're that silly little village that used to sell dragon-hide armor. And now you want vegetables? And…and bread?"

"Wait! We're trading? With the Hairy Hooligan Tribe?"

All eyes turned to the third voice; the smallest of the gathered group, but easily twice his height and with a voice two octaves deeper than his own. But still a Big-Boobied Bog Burglar. Yes.

"Um…yes," he ventured to answer when no one else offered to.

"Bread and Vegetables? Really?" The woman turned to her companions in evident surprise. "I didn't know we made bread."

"I didn't know Vikings _ate_ bread," came a new voice. Another, larger group of Bog Burglars stepped into the light of the lamp. He gulped. He was now outnumbered twelve to one.

"Relax, Hooligan. We'd never cheat our allies. Well…not with what you've already paid us, anyway. I trust everything's in order?"

He noticed a large crate that this group had brought with them, and wasted no time opening it, eyeballing the contents inside to assure he was being fairly dealt with.

"The armor is…exquisite," the new leader commented. "Not dragon-hide, but unlike any craftsmanship I've ever _seen_. How did you get your forge hot enough? The metal is very refined."

"Well…it's easier than you think," he said evasively, offering a half-grin as he shut the case. "You're three loaves short."

The woman scowled as if she would object, and then seemed to think better of it. "My apologies. We will gladly leave you something of equal value to recompense."

There was a heated argument between the Bog Burglars, and finally the leader offered forth her own sword. He took it carefully, inspecting it for flaws.

"Not as fine as yours, but very sharp, I'd wager," the woman said, sounding a little put-out.

Seeing how attached she seemed to be to the weapon, he offered it back to her. "Um…I have a suggestion," he said slowly. "If you were to deliver this crate to Berk, that would more than compensate the debt owed. It's heavier than I thought…I don't imagine I'd be able to get it back alone."

The Bog Burglars all grinned knowingly.

"Thought as much, we didn't see another ship in the harbor…"

"He _would_ come alone…"

"Thought he could cheat us out of a sword…"

"Do _you_ need a lift, too? How'd you get here? Swim?" This from the leader, addressing him directly. He grinned.

"I guess we could take you up on that? What do you say?" This last he directed upwards, toward the light, and the Bog Burglars turned their faces upwards…

…in time to see a large…_thing_…with enormous wings and glowing green eyes appear as if from nowhere, perched atop the iron lamplight not unlike a large, scaly bird.

It crooned lazily, head resting back in its forelegs – it had been there the entire time. It was colored in such a way as to blend with the night sky, and the faces of the Bog Burglars drained of color, returning at once to the Viking from Berk who was grinning outright, now.

"It's true, then?"

He locked eyes with the leader, who was trying hard to put on a brave face, even as she held the hilt of her sword tightly. She hadn't yet sheathed the blade, and it seemed to take all her strength to not brandish it foolishly at the beast above them.

"Seems to be," he said carelessly.

"The…the dragon-hunters of Berk? They're…"

"We can't make the dragon-hide armor anymore, so we thought we'd try something else. We can make our forges quite hot with dragon fire, though, and it's helpful to have something worth trading besides repair supplies," he explained, that grin on his face growing broader.

"Bertha," one of the Bog Burglars whispered to the leader, whose eyes had again returned to the dragon. It was preening itself; scales fell from the air like leaden snowflakes, and asundry crew-members were diving for them like they were treasures.

"_Bertha_," the other woman whispered frantically.

"What?" Bertha hissed, tearing her eyes away from the large, dark-scaled beast.

"I…I think we're going to need a bigger boat!"

Hiccup Horrendous Haddock III laughed aloud, and moments later, he and his dragon rode swiftly into the night.


End file.
